


Vox Nihili

by Anesther



Category: Ava's Demon
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Mentions others
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 05:53:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10656279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anesther/pseuds/Anesther
Summary: A voice of nothing can only ever be meaningless.





	Vox Nihili

**Author's Note:**

> Another story that's two years old, re-edited of any errors and anything I don't like anymore. Unknown characters' names finally are put in due to updates (thanks for 'the third sister' Michelle).

He used to be loud.

He’d stumble over words, phrases tripping over his tongue, stopping at the cracks of his teeth.

The boy wouldn’t understand why it was so  _ hard.  _ His family spoke with ease, with the confidence of birdsong. Yet his was dense, lead, weighed to the earth and he would watch them fly.

He’d cry, wishing he was different, better; undamaged.

His mother would shelter him when he hated himself, and tell him that it’s alright.

“I c-c-can’t…” 

Why is speech so heavy? Shouldn’t it flow?

“The point is to keep talking. Your voice matters. It’s how you let others know you’re here.”

His songs were choppy, and it made no difference—he felt inferior.

But he was loud.

<>

He drowned, water filling him whole, gargling, watching shimmers play above his head, in a world where shadows brightened light, and he didn’t believe he could sound  _ worse _ . 

He lost himself for a while, unsure of everything, except the cold. He always liked the cold. That was comforting.

The child felt his lungs empty, the first sound of his new life being the noise of his retching, water spilling from his lips, in this bizarre reverse baptism. He laid with hands on his shoulders, frantic cries high in bare trees and his brother was clearest.

He then noticed another sound—smothered, soft as ash.

Odin looked up to a demon, murmuring words he didn’t know. Yet it belonged to him, this monster shaded in hues of night skies at midnight. It possessed a dark voice, sonorous, engulfing him in shadow, different from the warmth of his mother’s hums.

It’d chant the same word over and over—until it was a drone that shrouded his waking thoughts, his deepest slumbers.

This voice wasn’t his, not at all.

It was commanding, stronger than his, superior in every way.

It’d rumble, thunder in his tiny little skull, too much, too many booms.

He hated that this voice, though, was somehow  _ his,  _ since he fell into that watery grave. If it was his, part of him, why couldn’t he control it?

More so, why did he  _ like  _ it?

<>

“A-Answer me,” he demanded, loud.

_ “Pact…” _

Odin shuffled on small feet, unnerved, “I w-w-want you to g-go.”

_ “Pact…” _

“I… d-don’t understand…”

_ “Pact with me.” _

A command.

“N-N-No.”

The demon stared at him, shadows enhancing the red light, piercing through him, and he was drowning again.

<>

He never surfaced.

<>

Odin would try to sing, only for the sound to cut off.

The monster would trail him every day, never leaving his side, never silent. It’d croon hollow promises, hiss dire threats, haunt him with images a child should never see.

The boy disturbed others when he’d stare off into nothing. His brother didn’t comprehend the emptiness, though he stayed clear as blue skies, always ensuring Odin it would be alright.

His father was confused, worried, and unsure of what to do, though Odin couldn’t tell half the time. His father was a good liar.

His mother remained there to sing, even when his sisters were born. Because his voice mattered.

She knew that more than anyone. He remembered that he wasn’t alone, not with her nearby. She’d smell of the hearth, the remnants of fire, dry and warm. He was safe.

<>

But she wasn’t.

<>

His sisters slept in black, on the cold ground, exhausted from weeping.

His brother stood quietly beside him.

Odin openly bawled, fingers digging into the earth, wanting to reach into the fresh graves and pull them back up, pull  _ her _ back up, because her voice had been the most important and it was suddenly  _ gone. _

She shouldn’t be down there—with worms in her skin, soil in her hair, her eyes, mouth  _ shut _ and no song.

“Get up.”

He refused.

“We need to take the girls back home.”

His shoulders hunched forward.

“Odin!”

He froze. Clear as always, but not the way skies were. His brother’s voice was water, transparent, empty. But clear.

He rose. He stared blankly at crude markings for a few moments more. His brother took his arm, hauling him to their charges, their sisters, none of them really knowing why they’re sad. They’re too young.

Odin pulled one sister to his chest, her face burrowing into his neck, shivering. He glanced over his shoulder, his demon standing over the crypts, talons scraping along his mother’s name.

Odin held the girl tighter.

<>

It was too tight.

<>

His voice battled the demon’s, trying, trying, to find a place to stand, fighting for dominance.

He kept being pushed down. With every fall, every slip up, he failed.

His brother was sharper with every failure, water pouring in his ears.

His sisters didn’t comprehend why he was the way he was. And they would make attempts, but eventually he had to keep them at bay. They were young, vulnerable, and needed to learn to protect themselves from himself.

Eventually, they left him to his thoughts and he wandered valleys of death alone. Good.

His voice was losing.

<>

The taunts grew steadily worse, resonating in his head, stones in his chest, trying to move underwater and weighed down by all he felt and didn’t feel.

The demon threatened the only sounds left in his life.

“N-No, please!”

_ “Pact…” _

“I don’t u-understand! Why w-won’t you explain yourself?”

The demon glared at him through the skull drawn over his face, voice muffled by bone,  _ “If you cared for them, you wouldn’t ask. Only do.” _

Question those who hold power over you.

“I c-can’t simply make a deal with someone,” he says, loud, “I d-don’t even know who you r-really are and I’ve b-b-been around you for years.”

The wraith shifts closer, voice deep as nightmares,  _ “I would explain it to you, if you weren’t so weak.” _

“W… W-Weak?”

_ “Weak.” _ the demon growled _ , “And pathetic.” _

<>

“No, I’m not.”

<>

In the dip of a low hill, where little sunlight allowed flora to thrive, a plant flourished in inky spaces. The soil mush under his feet, a stream flowed nearby—having birthed out of its natural reservoir, flooding out until it swept to the base of these hills, and endured. The florem mortem grew in more abundance afterward. His father told him about this—when there’s too much going on in the head, the plant would stifle the noise.

Odin walked forward, reaching out. His digits can’t even scratch the sides, the plant too far.

_ “There is no point.” _

Odin flips out his knife, easing along the shoreline, heart beating fast as he approaches the water.

“ _ You will never amount to anything.” _

Odin holds his breath, mind swimming, the water lapping close.

_ “Even if you manage to drown me out.” _

He kneels, crawling slowly on his stomach, the insect his demon believes he is. His arms are raised above the murky depths, fingers shaking, sawing carefully through the vines, the scent of florem mortem bitter in his nose. He struggles not to hyperventilate, though sweat beads along his forehead, staining his shirt, the water sloshes—

Odin draws back, tugging with him the stem he cut. Hand to his chest, the boy gasps, breathing quickly, hunched over. He vomits, shaking violently, gagging on bile, crying from his uselessness.

His demon’s right.

Odin Arrow was never good at much of anything. He should die, he knows this.

_ “You’ve proven time and again you’re the weak link.” _

He nodded.

_ “Or… you could always pact with me.” _

He stared up, feeling frail and tired, “Why… d-do you always offer me th-that?”

The demon grew quiet.

With the monster beside him mute, Odin could think. He took a deep, shuddering gulp of air.

Odin stood, grip tight around the death flower, beginning the trek home.

<>

With a knife, he fashioned his own pipe, sifting through the methods of how to prepare plants into a substance to consume. The best way is smoking the plant. He’s not looking forward to it very much, as his father had the habit, and it was simply because of that: it was a habit.

Odin sucked in a breath, air whistling past his teeth, giving him a chill.

“A-Alright,” he murmured to himself, stuffing the leaves into the bowl. It could be fashioned better, but that’s irrelevant. It just needs to work.

_ “Imagine if your mother saw you doing this.” _

“My m-mother isn’t here.” he told the beast, heart clenching. “R-Remember?”

_ “I recall that being your fault, somehow…” _

“Sh-Shut up!” he yelled, striking the lighter against his thumb, trying to get the flame. It struck, and he didn’t hesitate to burn the leaves, putting the mouthpiece between his teeth, inhaling.

He coughed, smoke in the lungs, burning. Eyes watering, he choked again, spitting on the ground.

Odin shut his eyes, thinking. Slowly, he attempted to breathe again, the leaves curling in on themselves, their taste in his mouth, ghosts flitting to the back of his throat. He exhaled, knowing he’ll understand the proper way if he keeps at it.

He turned to look at his demon—

He stood in surprise, the monster gone. It’s quiet.

Odin dragged the fumes in, inhaling deeply. It suddenly occurred to him the smoke is violet in color, shifting in front of his eyes—wisps thin as threads, tangling him, keeping the demon at bay.

The cinders in the bowl died, faintly glowing.

Odin peered out, through lavender smog, and headed down to the shoreline, toward water, and cut death flowers.

<>

“Odin?”

“Y-Yeah?”

“You smell like dad.”

“I k-know...”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not r-really.”

“Why are you smoking?”

“It just…helps c-clear my head.”

“Of what?”

“T-Things.”

“You’re only twelve.”

“S-S-So? I n-need this.”

“Not what I meant.”

Odin stared.

Olai held out his hand.

He placed the pipe in his brother’s palm, and they didn’t think, didn’t talk, finding clarity in the fog.

<>

The camaraderie never lasted long.

<>

Birds cawed loudly in surprise, taking to the skies at the sound of gunfire.

“Odin you’re not focused!”

“I-I’m trying!”

“Try harder! You can’t go around stumbling into the thick of fighting like that. Again, and this time actually hit the target!”

Odin’s demon watched by the sidelines, the shape of it misty against the forest. It shifted into the sunlight, suddenly obscure.

Where’d it go?

Exasperated, Olai shouted, “Hey! Pay attention.”

Odin took a deep breath, wishing he could stop and smoke for a little while. He hadn’t all day yet.

The girls eyed their brothers carefully, two chatting animatedly, one keeping her thoughts to herself, watching Odin with concern.

Magpie turned to Olai, “Don’t you think you’re pushing him too hard?”

“We can’t afford to slack off.”

Raven turned to her, “Yeah, otherwise we’re screwed.”

“I know that but—”

Olai cut her off, “Odin, no, your footing is wrong.”

Odin glared at him, eyes shining in the dimming light, “Get your ass over here and show me then!”

Olai’s stare hardened, the sisters oohing quietly.

Odin tried to control his mouth, control the smirk, “I don’t even need to practice.”

Narrowing his eyes, the eldest brother crossed his arms, “That right?”

“Yeah,” Odin continued, struggling with himself. Feeling his arms move, no no  _ no _ —

Odin watched his sisters huddle together, Olai tensing, “I’m a great shot.”

“Odin, that’s enough.”

“No, you told me to hit the target, and since I’m a  _ terrible  _ shot, I’ll miss.”

“Odin no—”

_ Dammit, stop! _

_ “Pact…” _

Odin couldn’t move his fingers, unfurl his grip, possessed, and his voice was smooth. How it should be. “It’ll be fine.”

His finger pulled the trigger, loud.

Smoke curled up from the gun, the bullet striking through the bark of a tree, barely grazing Magpie’s head, stiff from shock.

Crow found her voice first, screeching, “Why’d you do that?!”

The demon released his body, Odin immediately blurting out apologies, running over, “I d-d-didn’t me-mean it—”

He’s suddenly skidding on the earth, dirt dusting his hair, jaw throbbing. Olai towered over him, “What the  _ hell  _ are you doing? Why did you disobey me?”

“I— Th-That wasn-n-n’t my fault I sw… swear…”

Raven and Crow held Magpie close, tears flowing down her cheeks, eyes empty.

“Give me the gun,” his brother demanded.

“I…”

“ _ Now! _ ”

Hanging his head, Odin raised his arm, holding out the weapon. Olai snatched it from him, turning to the girls, “Is she okay?”

“Yeah,” Crow answered, “he didn’t get her at all. Right, sis?”

Mutely, she nodded, glancing at Odin in fear.

“I’m s-s-sorry—”

“Sure you are!” Raven interrupted, shaking. “ _ After  _ you did it! God, you’re a monster, sometimes, you know that?”

Odin’s heart twisted.

“Raven, that’s enough,” Olai told her, before turning to his younger brother.“Your rations will be given to our sisters throughout the month. You’ll only eat once a day and that is all.”

Odin kept his gaze on the ground, “Th-That’s fair…”

“You should let him starve completely,” Crow whispered. “It’d be a lot safer for us.”

Raven chimed in, “He’s only getting worse.”

Olai whirled to look at them, “I do  _ not _ need you two telling me what should be done, understand?”

They shut up, turning their gazes to other directions. Olai sighed, tired again. He walked over to his sisters, kneeling before them, “I want you three to go home, alright? Stay inside the house until I come up.”

The girls take their leave, not looking back.

Odin felt his brother approach, and he couldn’t tilt his head back to meet his eyes, shame shrouding his thoughts, wishing he was stronger.

“I should kill you for that.”

“I k-know… I’m w-wondering why you don’t,” Odin replied, voice hushed.

Olai sighed, sweeping back his hair, staring at the top of his sibling’s head. Disappointed. “Our parents wouldn’t want me to. That’s the only thing at this point. I’m supposed to protect all of you. But… next time, I might have to.”

Odin’s eyes rove to stare at his brother’s shoes, “T-That’s the fiftieth t-time you’ve told me that.”

“Is it that high?” asked Olai.

Odin shrugged, feeling small and weak, “I l-lost count after fifty… So I j-just go by that.”

The brothers said nothing for a long, long while. Finally, the eldest left the youngest in the dirt, walking into the darkness of pines. Odin listened to a wolf howl in the distance, curling up into himself.

He felt the demon reappear, where his brother was.

_ “Pact…” _

“N-No…”

_ “Why? If you pacted with me, all of this would end. I will not always be so generous. One day, one of them will die by your hand.” _

“I’m not g-going to let that happen.”

_ “How do you propose to do that? You’re huddled on the ground, the weakling you are, your family hates you, and they only tolerate having you around because your parents told them to. Everyone would benefit from your death, including yourself.” _

“I’ve k-known that all my life.”

_ “Even before we met?” _

“Even before w-we met.”

_ “Then why not kill yourself? It’ll be easy. I can help make it quick.” _

“You l-lie.”

_ “You don’t know if I’m lying, Odin Arrow.” _

“Of course I d-do,” he murmured, breath scuttling over the ground, numb hands. “Because if I w-was you, and I hated someone, I’d w-want them to suffer.”

_ “You speak from experience.” _

Their eyes locked, neither moving.

“Y-Yes.”

_ “Are we discussing what you’d to do me, or yourself?” _

The boy turned his head, saying nothing.

<>

Odin kept to himself more after that, distancing himself. No one minded, no one cared, least of all himself.

His voice grew smaller, smaller, folding itself away, until he only spoke rarely, his words barely there, because his voice not only didn’t matter, it was dangerous because it was weak. It couldn’t challenge the others around him, burrowing in his skull, drilling in, in, in until he bled.

His voice was nothing.

That was fine by him. He didn’t have much to say anymore.

<>

Odin’s brother called out to him, sending him out into the universe. 

To give him purpose, a mission in life, bring him out of the depression eating him whole, because that’s what brothers do. 

To keep his sisters safe, protect them from the monster that lived in their home, because that’s what brothers do. 

Odin didn’t object, throwing himself into the mission.

If he managed to prove himself capable, maybe… maybe he could go back home.

But this is for the best. And, after being by himself for so long, he preferred it this way. It’d benefit everyone.

_ “Now they’re getting rid of you. Don’t you care? Or have you given up?” _

Odin lit up his pipe, inhaling the fumes until everything blurred out, filling himself with ash and bittersweet memories, however few they were. 

He wished he drowned.

Odin didn’t care, silent for months on end, until, eventually, his demon didn’t bother speaking either.

There was no point. 

His voice was nothing, only breath and smoke, barely there, until it diffused into the atmosphere, as though it never existed.

<>

Ava Ire stares out the window of his ship, watching distant planets pass in silence, burning fingers on cool glass.

“You know…”

He turns to her, a subtle movement of his head before looking away again, “W-What?”

“You’re really soft-spoken. I just noticed that about you.”

Odin keeps his gaze ahead, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says, brushing hair back over her shoulder, causing his demon to stir. “Your voice doesn’t go above a whisper.”

He hums, his mother’s ring warm against his skin, “G-Guess so, huh.”

She approaches him, and she smells of a hearth, the remnants of fire, “Do you ever talk loudly? You know, when you’re not mad at people?”

“S-Sometimes.”

“Like when?” she asks, curious.

“W-When I have to be,” he replies, almost noiseless.

She strains her ears, her own voice low, “And I thought I was quiet.”

<>

_ “Pact…” _

“N-No.”

_ “You’re too prideful, you insolent fool.” _

“M-Much as I hate to admit it, it’s w-what we have in common.”

His voice is loud through the screen of smoke, if only inside his head.

<>

Odin Arrow is terrible at everything he does. 

He is a failure, his pride is false, and his greatest demon is himself.

The worst part about him is he’s bad at giving up.

His voice is quiet; but it’s his.


End file.
